by Neal Roberts
Alice spits over her shoulder. “You know I ’aven’t. But why you takin’ the side of these ’ere pagans, Constable?”
Barnstable ignores her and addresses the whole crowd loudly.
“Now, listen up, you crew! It’s my job to protect the Queen’s peace, and that’s exactly what I’m goin’ to do. I will not allow you lot to break the peace because somebody don’t believe exactly the way you do! Ain’t we ’ad enough of that ’round ’ere to last a lifetime?” As the crowd realizes that he’s referring to the bloody strife between the reformed Church of England and the papists, groans of agreement rise from the back of the crowd. The constable nods. “Now, if any o’ you see this fine lady or ’er two lovely children breakin’ the law, you come to me, and I’ll see about it right away. That I promise ye. Don’t be takin’ matters into yer own ’ands, neither, or it’ll be you I’m cartin’ away in manacles. Is that clear?” The crowd sounds a reluctant but unanimous agreement. “Awright! Now, be on yer way! Y’all got work of yer own to do. Be about it!”
As the crowd disperses, the fishwife shoots Noah a filthy look. He stares her down, and she slinks away without another word.
The young mother comes over to him and bows low, her children doing the same in imitation. “Thank you, sir. You have been a godsend to us. Bless you. You are a true Christian!” Before Noah can even think of correcting her, she kisses the hem of his robe, grabs her children’s hands, and scurries away.
Barnstable misinterprets Noah’s horrified expression. “Oh, don’t be too upset, suh. I know these people. Poor but honest, most of ’em. I know who the troublemakers are, and keep an eye on ’em.”
“Thank you for coming along at such a propitious time, Constable Barn-Stable. And for acting so responsibly.”
“Tweren’t nothin’, suh. Just another part of me job. Truth is, I don’t get why so many of these people are eager to follow such bent, twisted folk as Old Alice. But that young Jewess was right about you, suh. That was a right Christian thing ye done. May the peace of Our Lord be upon you, suh.”
Mortified again, Noah conceals it better this time. “God’s peace be upon you, as well, Constable Barn-Stable,” Noah replies. He absentmindedly fishes a coin out of his pocket and hands it to the constable, who backs away with much bowing, and leaves Noah alone with his thoughts.
As he resumes his ride to Jessica, he’s overcome by several emotions, foremost of which is shame. That mother and her children are my people! Who am I to live apart from them, and conceal my religion, so I may live comfortably at Gray’s Inn and be taken as a Christian, even by my own kind?
In which of these two worlds do I truly belong? he wonders, and then concludes, as he always has, that he’s an equal misfit in both.
Returning to Gray’s Inn after dinner, Noah finds Henry in his room.
“A plot to poison the Queen!” exclaims Noah. “First, Essex arrests Lopez on suspicion of treason. Then, he searches Lopez’s house and finds no papers at all. How does this transform itself into a plot to poison the Queen?”
Henry smiles. “Your client had been released for a time, got there first, and prudently burned every piece of paper in the house. By the time Essex’s men arrived, they found nothing but soot in the flue, and hot embers in the grate.”
“Soot and embers? In late January? I cannot imagine what might have been burned in a fireplace in January other than inculpatory personal papers!”
“Please, counsel, save the theatrics for the jury. I’m sure he burned wood there, too. The important thing is: They found no papers.”
“And when Essex informed the Queen that Lopez was a traitor, how did she reply?”
Henry searches his memory, and clears his throat. “‘Rash and temerarious youth,’ she said, ‘to enter into a matter against the poor man which you cannot prove, and whose innocence I know well enough!’ She also accused him of proceeding against Lopez out of malice.”
“And then Essex spends two days in isolation, and returns to the Queen directly to inform her that Lopez has not only committed treason, but his intention was to murder her by poison?”
“That’s right,” confirms Henry.
“Has anyone asked Essex how he found this out, notwithstanding his two-day isolation?”
“Evidently, they have not.”
“And what evidence has he of this poison plot?”
“Well, he found a ruby in Lopez’s house. Lopez admitted receiving it from King Philip, but said that he’d told his wife to sell it.”
“And that proves … ?”
“It proves that Lopez was in contact with a hostile Sovereign, and accepted from him something of value. As even kings generally do not part with things of value without expecting something in return, one permissible conclusion would be that Philip expected Lopez’s cooperation.”
“Why would Lopez lie about still having the jewel, after he’s already admitted receiving it from King Philip?”
“Beyond me, too,” says Henry. “He probably did tell his wife to sell it, but she decided not to do so. Wives do that kind of thing sometimes, you know.”
A knock at the door. It’s Jonathan. Seeing Henry, Jonathan seems uncertain whether to enter.
“Gentlemen,” says Noah, “there are things we cannot discuss openly, even among ourselves. As Master Neville is not counsel in the case, Jonathan and I cannot discuss with him communications with Doctor Lopez, as that would render them unprivileged. Also, as I have been party to confidential conversations with the Cecils and Master Neville on the Queen’s business, Henry and I cannot reveal those discussions to Master Hawking. In short, we are all walking a razor’s edge here. Now that the formalities have been taken care of, let me say that, if either of you repeats anything said in this meeting, I shall simply shoot myself, and leave you to deal with the consequences.”
Henry and Jonathan laugh darkly.
Henry asks, “Assuming this whole scenario of poisoning the Queen is a figment of Essex’s imagination, what would his motive have been in concocting it?”
Noah sits down and pulls off his boots. “I can help you there. Essex is not a trial lawyer. He’s a soldier, so he does what a soldier does. He broadens the field of battle to his advantage, slants it in his favor, and seeks powerful allies. He needs a jury that will enter the courtroom inclined to convict. So, he taints the view of the community from which they’ll be selected.” He withdraws from his pocket the bill he picked up in Southwark this morning, and hands it to Henry. “Here’s a bit of his handiwork.”
“Are you suggesting he’s mounting a revival of a stage play in order to influence public opinion?” asks Henry.
“I would not put it past him. More likely, though, he tipped off the theater operator Henslowe that a Jew had been thrown in the Tower for plotting to poison the Queen. Henslowe would require no prodding after that. He would realize that such a revival could prove quite profitable, especially as he would no longer need to compensate Marlowe.”
“And to think,” says Henry, “Essex was reminded of the old libel — that Jews poison Christians — by a stage play he saw the very day Stephen Rodriguez was murdered, where we ourselves were in attendance. This is life imitating art at its worst. Did you know that Marlowe actually mentioned Lopez by name in his play about Doctor Faustus?” He shakes his head. “And to think that, by doing so, Marlowe was unwittingly drumming up his posthumous theatrical revenues.”
Noah tosses his boots into the corner. “So that’s how Essex expands and slants the field of battle. And he also gets allies on the jury that way. But he hopes to get an even more powerful ally by changing the narrative of the case to one of poisoning the Queen. And that’s … ”
“The Queen,” says Jonathan.
“Of course,” says Henry. “If he has the Queen on his side, he doesn’t need the Cecils. She can direct them to stand out of Essex’s way.”
“But — ” begins Noah. Aware how close he is to violating the Cecils’ confidence, he decides against
finishing his thought with Jonathan present. “Jonathan, why don’t you change out of your robes, and give me a moment alone with Master Neville?”
“All right,” says Jonathan. “Shall I come back up when I’ve done?”
“Absolutely. There are some things we must discuss.”
Jonathan closes the door behind him, and can be heard trudging down the stairs to his room.
“Anything you’d care to tell me, Henry?”
“Regarding … what?”
“The Cecils.”
“Nothing to tell,” says Henry.
“As depressing as it seems, I think Essex may already have the Cecils cornered,” says Noah. “If they believe he can prove that Lopez committed any treason on their watch, they have no choice but cooperate in anything Essex wants to do to Lopez. And for Essex to defeat the Cecils, the treason would not have to be so dramatic as an attempt to poison the Queen; the plot against Perez would suffice. In fact, the Cecils would probably prefer to indulge Essex’s inspired lunacy about poisoning the Queen, as any trial on that charge would swerve clear around Lopez’s actual treason. Yes. A deal has been made. I can feel it in my bones. So long as Essex agrees not to pin Lopez’s treason on the Cecils, they’ll let him prosecute Lopez for anything.” His shoulders sag. “Even a crime he did not commit.”
Henry shakes his head. “Doesn’t sound right. Burghley has already told the Queen that Lopez’s actions were aimed solely against Don Antonio.”
“Don Antonio?” says Noah. “I thought Lopez lost his fortune trying to put Don Antonio on the Portuguese throne!”
Henry sighs. “Sometimes it seems there are more plots than plotters. And affections can change. The Privy Council has learned that Don Antonio’s son has organized a conspiracy among more than a hundred expatriate members of the Portuguese aristocracy in which they have joined together in seeking a pardon from King Philip of Spain in exchange for their forswearing any allegiance to Don Antonio. Lopez dislikes Don Antonio, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were promoting the effort.”
“But that’s not criminal,” observes Noah, “and it has nothing to do with the Queen’s person. Does that plot involve killing Perez?”
“To the contrary,” says Henry, “as Perez is suspected of providing intelligence to Don Antonio, Perez’s death may be the object of a counterplot by King Philip.” Henry scratches his head. “But as far as the Cecils are concerned, I have personally heard Sir Robert tell Her Majesty that Lopez is not guilty of plotting against her person.”
“Well,” says Noah, “that’s something, at least. But I fear Lopez’s fate may already be sealed.”
Henry bucks him up. “Don’t be so sure. And so long as we fulfill the roles assigned to us, we can look the Creator straight in the eye and say so. I have faith in you, Master Ames. If anyone can affect the outcome of this, it’s you.” He takes his coat and opens the door. “I’m off now. I’ll send Hawking up on my way out.”
Noah is lost in thought when Jonathan comes up a short while later.
“Master Neville tells me you are doubting your own powers,” says Jonathan.
“So long as Essex has no choice but to drag Lopez before Queen’s Bench, we can force him to produce his documentary evidence of this non-existent conspiracy, and we shall have him. There’s only one problem with that.”
“What’s that?”
“He knows it,” says Noah. “After all, he knows that’s where I live, at Queen’s Bench. I know every corner of the field, everywhere he may hide, and every way to smoke him out.”
“That’s more the spirit,” says Jonathan, breathing easier. “We shall best him.”
Noah shakes his head grimly. “No. He cannot afford to walk onto a battlefield where he’s likely to be bested, Jonathan. The stakes are too high. I fear he may engage in desperate measures to avoid such a showdown.”
“Such as?”
“Having Lopez killed in the Tower. Or … having me killed.”
Jonathan downplays both possibilities. “But surely either of those would be traced back to him. They’re too obvious.”
“You’re probably right.” Noah sighs. “I think I’ve known all along what he’s going to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Now that he’s got Burghley at gunpoint, he’s going to avoid Queen’s Bench entirely by convening a Court of Oyer and Terminer ‘to hear and determine’ the case against Lopez.”
Jonathan reacts as though Noah has said the most outlandish thing imaginable. “That creaky old thing?”
“There’s a reason it creaks like an old gallows,” replies Noah. “Think of the times it’s been used in the past. They cranked it up to get rid of Archbishop Cranmer and Lady Jane Grey. No one of note or name is ever acquitted in Oyer and Terminer.”
“Why’s that?” asks Jonathan.
Noah smirks. “Well, have you ever practiced there?” Jonathan shakes his head. “I didn’t think so. Neither have I, for there the accused has no right even to have a lawyer present. He has no right to examine the evidence against him, to cross-examine witnesses, or even to make a full statement to the court. And the selection of jurymen absolutely assures conviction.”
“How so?”
“In London, a Court of Oyer and Terminer is convened by the Privy Council. Neither the grand jury nor the petit jury is chosen by the usual method of random selection. They are, rather, appointed by commission issuing from the Privy Council itself. If the Commissioners, sitting as grand jurors, hand up a bill of indictment, as they always will, the same Commissioners instantly become the petit jury. And they are effectively above challenge on grounds of interest in the proceeding.”
“How can anyone be ‘above challenge’?”
“As you say, it’s an archaic forum. Commissioners are selected by virtue of high office, such as the Lord Chief Justice, the Chief Justice of Chancery Court, and so on, all of whom are dependent upon the continued good will of the Queen’s Privy Council. Even the Sovereign ensures that she has an individual there as her representative ‘in person.’ In short, the Privy Council creates the appearance that every important part of government is aware of the proceeding and is present to ensure that justice is done.”
“When in fact they’ve been selected to ensure a guilty verdict,” says Jonathan. “That’s an outrage. Why, it’s a violation of Magna Carta! It’s — it’s — ”
“It’s what Essex is going to do. He has free rein now, and since the Cecils cannot effectively stand in his way, they may rather assist him.”
The room is silent for a full minute before Jonathan ventures a particularly sensitive question. “Is there a reason you did not mention this in the presence of Master Neville?”
Noah sighs, as though he’s been asking himself the same thing. “I’m ashamed to confess, the answer to your question is ‘yes,’ to avoid making a suggestion that might be passed along to Essex, one he might otherwise miss.” He waves dismissively. “Ach! If Henry has been enlisted by Essex, we’re finished anyway. But I perceive a glimmer that the Cecils have retained some shred of decency, and are prepared to assist us in some way. I do not think we would have been appointed if they hadn’t requested us. That probably means that the Queen wants to avoid a horrendous miscarriage of justice. In any event, we shan’t go down without a fight.”
“Amen,” says Jonathan gravely. “And what a fight it will be!”
As neither Noah nor Jonathan need appear in court the next day, they spend all night in the inn’s library, taking copious notes, reframing the limitations on Oyer and Terminer’s jurisdiction into readily understandable phrases.
They move into the dining area. Noah rubs his eyes as, for the third time, he silently reviews the letter they’ve drafted together. In addition to preparing a clean original, Jonathan has made a verbatim copy for them to retain.
“This is about as good as it gets,” says Noah, “and — ” He loses his train of thought, cocks his head, and turns suddenly toward the window.
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“What is it?” asks Jonathan wearily, as such looks have been known to result in several additional hours in the library.
“Where’s that little dog?”
“Little — ?” Jonathan furrows his brow as though he’s concerned for Noah’s rationality. “Oh, Finerty!”
“Yes. Wasn’t he in the window for several weeks?”
Jonathan chortles. “Yes, he was. I don’t know what’s happened to him. Salazar pointed out a few days ago that he’d gone missing.”
A servant’s voice from the hallway: “Master Ames, you have two visitors, a Master Neville and a Master … Cheerful?”
Noah blinks several times to clear his vision. “Please escort them here. Thank you.” As Henry and Cheerful are brought in, Jonathan rises and bows.
Noah is simply too tired, and nods his head. “Good morning, gentlemen. What can we do for you?”
“I’m afraid we bring some bad news,” says Henry. “As it turns out, the Privy Council has convened a Court of Oyer and Terminer … ”
Noah completes his sentence: “ … to hear and determine the matter of the guilt or innocence of Roderigo Lopez in the plot to poison the Queen. Court will be convened at Guildhall, in … three weeks,” he estimates.
Henry’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide. “How did you — ? Did someone — ?”
Noah is exhausted, but still he cannot resist. “And you have considerately brought Master Cheerful Killigrew with you to await any urgent message I may have for Lord Burghley.”
Noah picks up a pen, inks it, and signs the letter he and Jonathan just completed. He folds it and writes on it: “To William Cecil, Lord Burghley.” While Henry watches in amazement, and much to Jonathan’s mirth, he hands it to Cheerful, gives him a shilling, and says: “There you go, m’lad. Thank you for your pains.”
Henry seizes Cheerful by the arm before he can run out to take horse, and regards Noah as though he’s lost his mind. “Don’t you want to read the notice?” he asks, handing it to Noah.